


wounds without cause

by summerofspock



Series: of joints and of marrow [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Arthurian, Come Eating, M/M, Medieval Medicine, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, Rimming, art included, discussions of wounds and bruises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23266105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: Blood was rushing from Aziraphale’s head to his wound to other places he didn't want to think about. They couldn't do this again.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: of joints and of marrow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672942
Comments: 29
Kudos: 319





	wounds without cause

**Author's Note:**

> title from proverbs 23
> 
> this is definitely historically inaccurate but we are in arthurian legend and the show had full plate armor in the 500s so *shrugs*
> 
> gorgeous art by [doorwaytoparadise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/pseuds/doorwaytoparadise) aka [sungmee](https://sungmee.tumblr.com/)

_Wessex 527 AD_

It was Aziraphale’s fault. He'd been distracted. He hadn't expected to see Crowley in the battle outside of Arthur's castle. He’d thought Crowley had buggered off to somewhere warmer after their little discussion in the forest.

He’d seen a flash of black armor - certain he recognized it - and dropped his sword arm. "Crowley?"

It was then that a knife slipped under his pauldron, slicing open his bicep.

He swore and turned on his opponent, stabbing through their meager leather armor. His blood was roaring in his ears, heart pumping fiercely. It was a battle high. That adrenaline spike. Aziraphale was loath to admit it but it was the thing that drove humans to fight, to forget their own flesh until there was only weapon and enemy. A fight to the death.

It was what led Aziraphale off the battlefield when the fight was done, covered in blood and bruises, body aching, cock hard between his legs. It should be shameful. But it was how the human body worked. And angel or no, Aziraphale’s corporation worked like any human’s. It bled, it ached, it burned.

Another enemy stepped up behind him and kicked the back of his thigh. He cried out, spinning on his heel and bringing his pommel down on the man’s temple. He put his hand to his injured arm and when he pulled away his fingers were slick and red.

"Great bloody fuck."

That voice certainly was Crowley.

A hand wrapped around his arm and Aziraphale felt himself pop in and out of existence, his own chambers inside the castle manifesting around him.

"What? What's going on?"

Crowley ripped off his helmet, a sneer on his dirty face as he tossed it aside. It clattered on the stone floor.

"Are you trying to get discorporated?"

"It is my duty to protect the realm -"

"Doesn’t answer the question," Crowley said, prowling closer to him. His cowl was still up over his head, matting down his hair so only a few tendrils peeked out onto his forehead where sweat beaded in tantalizing rivulets.

Blood was rushing from Aziraphale’s head to his wound to other places he didn't want to think about. They couldn't do this again.

Rome had been a mistake.

_But it felt so good._

Aziraphale fussed with his pauldron - he needed to survey the damage and not look at Crowley. There was a resounding snap and the weight of his armor and mail disappeared and Aziraphale found himself standing in his chambers in just his gambeson and braies. He looked at his arm and saw the ripped fabric, soaked through with blood.

Crowley groaned in irritation and pushed his cowl back, revealing cropped sweat damp hair.

"Nasty bugger," Crowley said, stepping closer. Aziraphale could smell the battle warm scent of him, blood, and dirt, and sweat. He licked his lips and tried to focus through the dizzying swell of pain in his arm. His heart throbbed in the wound.

"Think I could make it better?" Crowley asked, looking up at him through half-closed eyes. Aziraphale nearly spoke, said something he’d regret, when Crowley added, "It's been a while since I stitched anyone up, but I doubt I've forgotten."

Aziraphale didn't know what he was thinking. His heart was racing, his mind flooded with shock drunk images of Crowley on his knees in Rome, on the sound of battlecries, the pound of blood in his ears, in his cock which had grown hard against his will. It was Rome. It was Nicaea. It was Jericho.

Crowley snapped his fingers to get his attention and waved Aziraphale in the direction of the bed. "Don't just stand there. Sit down. Make this easier on both of us."

Then Crowley's armor and mail were gone. In just his leather padded gambeson he looked thin and lithe. Aziraphale knew the truth of that body. He'd seen its bones.

Crowley settled on his knees on the mattress beside him. "Gambeson off."

Aziraphale snapped his finger, obeying sullenly, vanishing his ruined gambeson and sweat-soaked shirt.

"S'gonna hurt."

"Yes, I know," Aziraphale said before gritting his teeth. With a pair of forceps, Crowley carefully removed strings of wool from the wound, stuck in the flesh from where the sword had sliced through the padding.

Aziraphale hissed as one particularly long thread was removed.

Crowley winced in sympathy and placed a steadying hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. He tossed aside the forceps and summoned water and bandages.

"It’s alright, angel. You’re fine."

Aziraphale wasn't fine. He was hard. He was aching. He wanted to tackle Crowley back against the pillows and kiss him until they were both raw with it. Until it hurt even worse than the bruise forming on his thigh, the threat of ribs broken by armor.

Crowley was shockingly delicate as he wrapped the fabric strips around Aziraphale’s bicep. They were cool and soothing and not at all what Aziraphale’s body was crying out for.

Crowley pinned the bandages in place and then brushed his hand once more between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, a ghostly touch to the crux of his wings.

Aziraphale turned his head to look at Crowley.

Crowley looked back.

Aziraphale cupped his cheek in his hand and pulled him into a kiss that could have been sweet if Aziraphale wasn't in pain. He could feel the echo of every place where a sword had crashed into him, every kick, every fall. But with Crowley’s mouth on his, it all felt like pleasure.

Crowley gasped into the kiss and pushed him back onto the bed. Aziraphale hit the feather tick mattress and found he couldn't move, held fast by Crowley's unreadable expression.

Then Crowley unhooked the fastenings to his own gambeson and tossed it aside. He tore his black shirt over his head, revealing the pale lines of his torso. In the dim light of the room, Aziraphale could see the array of purple bruises on his ribs, an almost black bloom above his left hip. Aziraphale ached for himself, but, in that moment, he ached for Crowley.

"Doesn't it get you hard?" Crowley said, sliding back on top of him. "All that fighting. Good for the blood."

Aziraphale gasped and arched into him. "No, it…"

Aziraphale didn't know what he was about to say because it broke in his mouth when Crowley grasped him through his braise.

"Want you inside me again," Crowley said, sucking new bruises into his neck. "Just like Rome."

Aziraphale hissed as Crowley sank his teeth into his neck, fight or flight response kicking under his ribs. "My leg, I'm not sure I can..."

"Let me take care of it," Crowley said, hands between them, undoing Aziraphale’s braies and pushing them down.

Crowley was naked and Aziraphale couldn't help but run his hands up his thighs, feel the stretch of his muscles as Crowley straddled him. Crowley was bruised and dirty, rivulets of sweat like waterstains on his parchment skin.

Aziraphale dug his thumbs into the harsh line of Crowley's hips, held onto the feeling of those bones in his palms. Delicate, precious, human.

Confusion and lust merged into heady pleasure as Crowley took the length of him in his hand and aligned himself above Aziraphale’s pelvis, sinking down slowly, already slick and relaxed and so warm.

Aziraphale had forgotten how warm he was. He’d bundled it all up alongside the rest of his memories from battle after battle and pushed it into the deepest corner of his mind. But with Crowley fucking himself on his cock, Aziraphale couldn’t ignore them anymore.

Crowley against the wall of his rooms, head tipped back as Aziraphale touched him. Crowley’s ribs had been broken and when Crowley pulled him into bed, Aziraphale had protested. _I'll hurt you._

_That's the point._

Aziraphale had fucked him then and it felt like a culmination of centuries of darting glances.

All it had taken was a little pain and the floodgates had opened.

Crowley began to move above him, stone silent as he rocked his hips. Aziraphale didn't know where to touch him, so many bruises. Armor was a wonderful invention but it hurt to wear, pressing against all the vulnerable places you tried to forget until bruises and wounds and calluses formed.

Aziraphale was familiar with the way armor pinched and prodded but he had more cushion to his body whereas Crowley…

Crowley tipped his head back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. Aziraphale could wrap his hand around that throat. Unable to hold back, Aziraphale sat up and pulled Crowley into his arms, thrusting up into him despite the growing ache in his thigh, the tear of the wound in his arm.

Precome smeared over both of their stomachs, Aziraphale’s softness pressed against Crowley's hard planes.

It hurt. Aziraphale's whole body hurt but he wanted it to. He wanted it to be worse so he could feel more.

The hot pressure of Crowley around him suddenly tightened as Crowley spilled between them. Crowley pushed him back against the pillows and kissed him with a choked of groan that fell into his mouth

Aziraphale's body screamed for release and he thrust up into Crowley even as Crowley fucked his mouth with his tongue, moaning like he was desperate, like he hadn’t just come. His orgasm was sharp and painful, drawing the final crest of his pain out on a groan.

Crowley collapsed to the side of him, breathing hard. “Fuck.”

Embarrassed but not wanting it to end, Aziraphale rolled over, ignoring the flash of pain in his leg, and grabbed Crowley’s thighs. He pushed them back, exposing Crowley’s buttocks so Aziraphale could lay on his stomach and lick into him.

Fingers were suddenly in his hair as Aziraphale licked his own spend out of Crowley’s body. It was bitter salt and sweat but Aziraphale didn’t care. He wanted to hear more of Crowley’s sounds, wanted to be the reason Crowley made them. Wanted this to be something other than a terrifying wound.

When Crowley was finally clean, Aziraphale released his thighs, kissing each bruise he found as he moved up Crowley’s body. He finally kissed Crowley on the mouth and it was something like relief. A steady tingle pushing away the pain and making Aziraphale feel light.

Crowley pulled away first, slipping out from under him and going in search of his clothes. Aziraphale’s heart dropped into his belly.

“Where are you going?”

Crowley looked up at him, eyes glowing in the dim light. He had his shirt in one hand and he put Aziraphale in mind of a wild animal, terrified and ready to run.

“Best be off. Temptations to do. Wiles to...wile,” Crowley said, eyes dropping to his hands.

“You should stay. We’re both injured. We need our rest,” Aziraphale replied, sitting up and regretting it as all his muscles protested.

Crowley dropped his shirt and then scrambled to pick it back up again.

“Please. I saw your ribs. I don’t want you hurting.”

“Bit late for that,” Crowley mumbled, tugging his shirt over his head. “Best be off.”

Aziraphale stared at him and Crowley’s face softened slightly, frown losing its cutting edges.

“Not all of us have soft feather beds, angel. I have work to do.”

Aziraphale watched him pop out of existence and his heart joined the rest of his body, aching, aching, aching.

**Author's Note:**

> a couple more in this universe i think because I do like a happy ending


End file.
